The War Journal of one Eddard Stark: Lord of Winterfell Warden of Th
by Squiggle Stories
Summary: A mixture of Ned's Journal Entries from Robert's Rebellion and a few of Lyanna's mixed in for luck and chapters from the present day as Jon comes to terms with his heritage.
1. Chapter 1: A Gift from the Past

Chapter 1: A Gift from the Past

Present Day

He wasn't a Stark, he was a Targaryen. Sansa, Bran and Arya weren't his siblings they were his cousins. He wasn't a bastard but a trueborn heir to the greatest dynasty in Westorisi history. She was his Aunt, she who had spent so much time warming his bed, she who he loved more than anything else in the world. Daenerys Targaryen was his Aunt. All this prevented Jon from concentrating on his work, sitting in his solar, and no matter how many times he said it in his head it refused to sink in. Should he call himself Aegon now? No, that was simply ridiculous he had been Jon all his life, that wasn't going to change. Should he take the throne? By all rights, it was his before Daenerys' after all the Son of the Firstborn comes before the Secondborn. No, Jon didn't want the crown that was already placed on his head. Although Jon guessed, like the north, he wouldn't have much choice in the matter.

Jon was pulled out of his thoughts by a knock at the door, he looked up, who would want to disturb him now? Everyone in Winterfell wanted little if anything to do with him. "Come in," he called.

The door swung open to reveal a short figure silhouetted against the light streaming through the window behind him. As he walked in his features became more defined. He looked no older than most of the other lords in the North, short grey hair, with a rough, short beard, wild eyes that surveyed the room. The clothing he was wearing was almost entirely practical. Light brown leather cuirass with a Crocodile embossed on the front, with light pants with leather pads held on with metal rivets. He carried no sword, only a quiver of arrows and a long dagger strapped to his waist, which he likely could use to outmanoeuvre most swordsmen. This man was Howland Reed if Ned's description held true.

Jon rose to meet the newcomer, "Lord Reed I assume," Jon walked around his desk, holding his hand out to be shaken. Reed took his hand slowly, and shook it almost timidly, the man was clearly not at home here, he likely hadn't stepped foot in a castle this size since the rebellion.

"Just Howland, please," His green eyes had locked onto Jon's and they immediately filled with sadness, "You look like her you know, Jon," he smiled and looked around the room again, "Last time I was here was when we brought you back," he said, running his hand over the desk.

"I wasn't informed we were to expect you, Howland," Jon said apprehensively, this clearly had something to do with his parentage. But Jon wasn't quite sure if Bran was to be believed Howland was there when he was found.

"No one was," Howland looked at him again, "I must leave soon, I would have brought some men, but convincing Crannogmen to leave the neck is like convincing a Donkey it's a Horse, doable but not easy, we will defend the neck from any force that tries to come North, we always have, but we're not welcome here."

"Is there anything I can get for you, Howland?"

"No, actually I bear a gift, or two, from your Father," He placed two leather-bound Journals on the desk, the top one was bound in pale leather, the other much darker, the cover of the top one read, 'The War Journal of Eddard Stark. 282-283 AC' In Ned's handwriting "It's Ned's Journal from the war," Howland explained "The other is Lyanna's. Keeping a War journal is a tradition among your house some Bullshit about ensuring that their version of events makes it into writing."

"How…" Jon trailed off.

"Your Father wrote to me before he Rode south, told me to find him as they passed through the neck, I did and he gave me those, told me to give them to Robb should he come asking questions, or to you, especially if you found out some other way," Howland's fingers lingered on the Journals almost hesitant to let them go, the last remains of those close to him. "When I received the news about your discovery, I set off immediately, they might provide clarity."

"…Thank you, Howland, I don't know what to say," Jon managed to get out through the flurry of thoughts passing through his mind, these contained the personal thoughts of his Mother, who he's never met, and the Man who raised him.

Howland placed his hand on Jon's shoulder, "Seeing you is enough payment, she would be proud of you Jon Stark," He smiled, before turning and leaving the room closing the door behind him.

Jon sat down in the chair by his hearth picking up the top journal on his way. As he opened the cover two sealed letters fell out. One addressed to him, the other Robb, both names were in Ned's script with his script on the wax seal on the back. Jon hesitated before placing Robb's letter to the side. That wasn't for him, he might read it later, or give it to Sansa to read, but not now there were already too many ghosts floating around these halls.

Breaking the seal Jon began to read.

_Jon._

_If you are reading this then I likely died before I_ could tell you about your origins. As I write this Cat is asleep and I am due to ride to King's Landing on the morrow. These journals have been locked in my desk since the war, on the way south I will give them to Howland Reed, the only other person who knows the truth, with instructions to give this to you should you learn the truth or come to him asking after your mother.

In case the latter is the case I will put it into writing here, plain and simple.

I am not your Father. You are the result of the union between Lyanna Stark and Rheagar Targaryen. I will not explain further; these journals tell you all you need to know but know all the lies I have told have been to serve one purpose. To protect you, and thus Lyanna's legacy. Know that no-one else knows outside of me and Howland, not even Cat, although I sometimes wonder if your life would be easier if she knew.

Your Mother loved you more than life itself.

You are as much a Son to me than any of my other trueborn sons don't ever forget that.

Truly

Your Loving Father

Eddard

AN: I fucking wish I owned these rights


	2. Chapter 2: It all Started with a Raven

Chapter 2: It all Started with a Raven

Journal Entry 1

This is the War Journal of Eddard Stark during the Rebellion

of 282 AC against Aerys II Targaryen for the crime of murder and suspension of the Law. So, it's come to this, I sit here writing the first entry to my first war journal. History is Written by the Victors, and this war will be remembered one of two ways, either we will

be remembered as inhuman heroes or the worst traitors in Westorosi history, this journal will stand as my account to the unadulterated truth.

I don't know who will read this, some ancestor of mine three generations away or some crumbly old maester transcribing this in a hundred years, whoever you are I want you to know I'm scared.

This morning Jon received a Raven from King's Landing, declaring the execution of Father and Bran, and requesting that Jon arrest both me and Robert and ship us to King's Landing for execution.

Father and Bran are dead.

To be brutally honest I'm still processing the information. The news of Lyanna's abduction arrived two weeks ago, followed by the news of Bran's arrest, from what I hear he had it coming, but to be executed without trial, and to execute Father alongside him, that's unforgivable. The

old laws are clear, the punishment is death, and a King is not above the Law, Aerys must die. But while my adoptive brother and father planed regicide, I'll be honest and say I simply wanted to retreat north, hide north of the neck, let Robert and Jon fight, and if they lost I would offer them refuge, and watch as the mad fool in King's Landing throws his army at the marshes.

Another thought went through my mind, I would find Lyanna, no army needed, just me and Howland, asking in inns and villages, we'd find her, we'd kill him, and return north, the king would be none the wiser. Although that idea is a fool's errand, Rhaegar is likely protected by Kingsguard, the sword of the morning, and a fear that Lyanna's disappearance was more complex than I first suspected, if there is more to the story than that portrayed by my brother in his raven, or Father in his letter, then Lyanna would never forgive me.

No, it has been decided, on the morrow I ride for the Fingers, from there, White Harbour, then Winterfell. I will raise an army and meet Jon in the Riverlands and go to Riverun to try to convince Hoster Tully to join us, I may have to wed my brother's former bride, Catelyn Tully, I have met her before, she is truly a beauty, no man should complain that he is to wed a bride such as her.

I am truly scared. If we succeed and Lyanna's disappearance is as black and white as it seems then I fear her survival might not be guaranteed, but I know Anna, I know that abduction is likely, and last they met she seemed enamoured with Rheagar and much less so with Robert, I fear that if we succeed and the Targaryen's fall that she may never forgive me.

The King Must Die.

AN: again do not own, I'm not a millionaire if I was I wouldn't be posting here, id probably still be asleep in my huge fuck off bed


	3. Chapter 3: Loving Family

Chapter 3: Loving Family

Present Day

There was a knock at the door, and before Jon could answer it opened and Sansa strode in. "The men are getting restless and our supplies are disappearing at a rate of knots, I need you to tell me…" she paused, eyes falling on the dark leather Journal still sitting on the desk, her eyes scanning the cover, reading the title, Jon knew exactly what it read _'The War Journal of Lyanna __Stark__ Targaryen'_ was in a hand that flowed an awful lot more than the one in Jon's lap the name Stark was neatly crossed out, likely after the wedding, then below that line, in Ned's hand were the dates '282-283 AC' Jon could imagine Ned writing the last line before stowing them away so no-one could read them. Sansa glanced over at him, concern in her eyes, before settling on the Journal in his lap clearly putting two and two together about who it belonged to. "Where did you find them?"

Jon looked down at Ned's Journal, still open in his lap. "They were a gift," he said before looking up to meet her eyes, "From Ned before you went south. Howland Reed brought them from Greywater Watch."

Sansa picked the Journal up from the desk quietly without a word, and sat in the other chair by the fire, holding it in both her hands carefully like it was some sort of ancient relic. "Who's is that one?" was all she asked.

"Ned's" he answered, "You can read it when I'm done if you want." Jon looked down at the letter addressed to Robb, still perched on the arm of his chair. Slowly he picked it up as if it were made of glass and handed it to her. "Here," he said "it's addressed to Robb, but he never got it. It's from Ned, you should have it."

She looked at him square in the eyes, her brows furrowed as she reached out and took the letter, "You speak of him like he wasn't your Father,"

Jon sighed, the word of the letter flashing into his head. _'You are as much a Son to me than any of my other trueborn sons'_ was he really still his Father, it's a big fucking lie to keep for all that time. "Jon, he was the man who raised you, he loved you. The man who fathered you rode off to his

death before you were even born, Ned Stark was far more of a father to you than Rheagar Targaryen ever was. He sacrificed his honour for you Jon…" she let it sink in "Ned Stark sacrificed his honour for you. That's like saying an eagle sacrificed its wings" Jon chuckled softly at the metaphor. Sansa reached across the gap and gripped his hand in her own leather gloved hand. "You will always be Jon before Aegon," her grip tightened, "I want to trust you, Jon, I do, I just…" she paused "I want to push you to be the best you can. I guess I'm conscious that you're new to this whole thing." She let go and placed the Journal that was still in her lap on the little table between them. "Look, if you want Daenerys to be your Queen no-one in this castle will stop you. Just show them that Aegon Targaryen is no different to Jon Stark." She smiled as she stood and smoothed off her dress, "it doesn't hurt that she's easy on the eyes hmm" Jon laughed a blush returning to his cheeks, and looked back up at Sansa, she was beaming back at him, clearly pleased with her little joke.

"No, that it doesn't," he said as she walked to the door.

"I might take you up on the chance to read that journal." She said before closing the door and leaving Jon alone with his thoughts.

Could he still be with Daenerys? She was his Aunt, although being a Targaryen that was likely more incentive to wed. Marring a cousin wasn't frowned upon in the seven kingdoms, but an Aunt… Jon wasn't sure.

AN/disclaimer/whatever the fuck you want to call it. I do not own this shit, although if HBO wants to sell me the rights I wouldn't be opposed


	4. Chapter 4: A Lovesick Fool!

Chapter 4: A Lovesick Fool!

Journal Entry 2

Why the Fuck am I Writing this?

This is the War Journal of Lyanna Stark. I start writing this before a house has so much as raised its banners, but the news of the executions arrived today and if there's one thing I know, it's my brothers. There will be war, and while I am not the lord of Winterfell and never will be, I know my thoughts will be long lost and overlooked by the time this war comes to be written down no matter who wins, so I write this Journal in the hope that my account is considered in the official writings, I think it will also help to get my thoughts into order, Mother always said I had too many too often.

I will not lie and say I didn't cry. Rheagar held me as I wept, as I begged him to ride east and take his Father's place, just like he said he would at the tourney, as we lay together before the final bout. But alas I fell in love with a coward and I love him for it. Instead of riding south and east we ride for Dorne.

_"A new Life Anna,"_ he says, _"Away from the court,"_ he says, _"Away from the trappings of the palace that we both hate,"_

I will admit that no small part of me wishes to tie him to the bed and ride for King's Landing myself and force my sword down the King's gullet, can't say he'd be missed all that much, hell I might still do that after I've finished writing this. But then Rheagar looks at me from the bed, with that stupid grin he wears, and I have this urge to join him that only those stupid stories Mother used to tell can explain.

You know the ones about a princess in a tower guarded by a vicious dragon, to be saved by a gallant prince. Only this time the roles are reversed. The Gallant Prince is that blubbering fool Baratheon and my dragon only has his roar, and none of the claws and teeth. I tease him sometimes, and all he can say is _"If I had Claws I couldn't play my harp, and if I had those teeth could you imagine making love?"_ and my heart melts and just want to gather him into my arms, smother him in in kisses and protect him

from the Dragons with both those things.

Gods I'm a lovesick Fool!

What would Bran say if he could see me now? Probably something sarcastic and then punch Rheagar for good measure. He died for me! I miss him already. Gods I'm going to struggle without you Bran.

I keep telling myself that I can't change the past, that it's not all my fault, that Bran was hot-headed, that Father underestimated the King. But gods I was stupid, I should have told him, I should have told someone!

Maybe Bran and Father would be alive if I wasn't such a fucking fool.


	5. Chapter 5: History

Chapter 4: A Lovesick Fool!

Present Day

_'Lovesick fool'_ that's what his mother had called herself.

Jon couldn't help but think history was repeating itself as he sat here by Danny's bed, his Mother's journal in his lap. He couldn't sleep so he had pulled up a chair and started to read.

A dragon without claws or teeth… was that what he was? Was that what his Father was? Jon didn't know. When compared to Danny, he certainly had no claws, but his hands were still dripping with blood. The blood of the free folk, his brothers in black… Ygritte. Thoughts of the maiden of fire had started creeping into his mind more and more in recent weeks, what would she make of all this? Probably laugh, prod him in the ribs and tell him to get over it.

_'you know nothing Jon Snow'_

Gods if she had been there when they called him King, she likely would have punched little Mormont just for suggesting it then Jon for good measure, or would she have raised Mormont up on her shoulders and

proclaimed Jon as King only louder? Jon wasn't sure. He'd have to ask Tormund. Was she his Brandon Stark? Or was she closer to Lyanna?

Jon was pulled from his thoughts by Danny stirring in bed. She looked at him, Violet eyes peering out from under her eyelids. "You get little wrinkles between your eyebrows when you think too hard," she said still half asleep, she was smiling with THAT smile. That smile she only wore when they were alone, ear to ear, unhampered happiness, the type of smile that if she had around other people, they'd only look at her weird. "Come back to bed," she lifted the covers to let him in, the resulting view was entirely a coincidence Jon was sure "you'll get a cold"

Jon sighed, and looked down at the book in his hands, closed, between his knees. The spine was worn, as were the edges of the covers, likely from his Mother's travels with his Father. "What were you thinking about?" came the question he had half expected.

"You," he replied, _and Ygritte_, he added in his head.

"then come back to bed." Danny smiled, "it's cold without you." Jon highly doubted that Danny slept with enough blankets to ensure that anyone that slept in her bed, like Jon who was used to considerably less fur in his bed, would practically boil to death. Yet Jon re-joined her none the less, he couldn't help it, she was intoxicating.

He positioned himself so his chest was flush with her back, snaking his arms around her, pulling her closer and planting a kiss on the top of her head. "Don't leave me, Jon." Came Danny's voice from the darkness.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not stupid Jon, your father is my brother, it's going to be weird." She paused; Jon could tell she was getting her words in order, so he didn't interrupt. "If you do decide to leave just… just let me down slowly Jon, I couldn't take another broken heart,"

"I'm not going anywhere D," he replied before his brain caught up with his mouth. No, he wasn't going anywhere, he was happy right here, right now. 'Lovesick fool' the words bounced around in his head until Danny broke the science, history has a nasty way of repeating itself.

"D? haven't heard that one before." Danny chuckled completely oblivious to his internal monologue. "Where'd that come from,"

"I have no idea," Jon admitted "Just slipped out I guess," he kissed the top of her head again. "you like it?"

"Hmm, I guess I do," she pressed herself tighter into his embrace for comfort "Just…"

"Not in Public," he finished.

"Hmm, something like that," that was the rule. Whatever they wanted in private, but in public, they were strictly professional. Jon was ok with that, it just made him value these moments all the more.

He truly was a lovesick fool.


	6. Chapter 6:Half-baked plans

Chapter 6: Half-baked plans and Hair-brain Ideas

Journal Entry 3

Ben took being told to stay in Winterfell about as well as expected. I can't really blame him, he wants to find his sister just as badly as I do, but as of right now he is my Heir and I am going to war, and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. If anything were to happen to me, he is the sole member of House Stark left to hold the North aside from mother. Leaving her was hard. I told her that if anything were to happen to me, she and Ben must hold the Neck, not venture past it, for the King will bring only Death, and my body will be taken to King's Landing and buried with all the other traitors. Can't say it's the company was particularly poor down there. Daemon Blackfyre, Rhaenyra Targaryen the Half year Queen were buried there. Both legends in their own rights.

Mother wept as we set off, and Ben could barely contain the tears. Gods I'm going to miss them, and I only just got back. We ride for Moat Calin where we wait for the rest of the army before meeting Jon in the Riverlands.

I hate Moat Calin, it stinks of war and death, although I guess that's what we need right now. Howland will meet me there, maybe he knows more about this shit show than I do, Lyanna always liked him. It will be good to see a familiar face, it feels like everyone I interacted with since arriving at Winterfell was a new face, except for the old Maester, Mother and Ben. I can't shake the feeling that all we have right now are half baked plans and hair-brain ideas when I meet with the lords at Moat Calin we can come up with some semblance of a cohesive plan.

Gods I miss Brandon, he always had a better tactical mind than I could ever dream for. A good lord looks to his advisers for matters that are beyond him. Gods my advisers are going to be sick of me before this is all over.


	7. Ugh!

Ugh!

I'm Done with this site

What was I thinking posting in two places anyway

I've been posting here and on Archive of Our Own, find me there for more, same penname

Thanks for reading


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